Real Gone
by DestinyShiva
Summary: He didn't want to be the favorite. He didn't want to be singled out. But he hated seeing those blue eyes turn to others, he wanted them only on him. 1950's Post-war USUK PWP, Co-Written with Tenkuno.


**Warnings for:**

**- Dysfunctional relationship.**

**- Slight racism and sexism, as common for the period.**

**- PWP**

_Tenkuno: This is a result of listening to so much old music and watching a ton of Mad Men, even though that takes place in the 60's. Alfred's attitude may come off as cocky and pig like, but thats how men acted in those days. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it!_

****REAL GONE

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><p><strong>Washington D.C. United States.<strong>

**July 1950.**

Five years since the official end of the war. 1950, July now, to be precise. It was a pleasant summer, more pleasant certainly than those that the world had recently been through. The world as a whole was still insecure, especially after the end of the Nazi party regime and tensions in the political landscape. For nations, one by one, declining dramatically was a fear that in some form or another they would all undertake. They were falling - the weak depended on the strong, and people were forced to sacrifice their pride and prejudices in order to survive. Slowly, the rift between the Soviet East, and the capitalist West were beginning to form.

It was like the international system was playing a chess game versus itself, and they – the nations that existed in our minds and those that walked the Earth – were the unfortunate pieces. Suddenly unease and dependency were splitting them apart, tearing the world into two opposing blocs. Their fortunes were being changed, manipulated as if the world was moving them forwards, twisting their paths - anticipation and unrest was like a finger, stroking their sides, as they decided upon their next moves.

The Black Queen lingered hopelessly as he watched the empire he had built slowly fall to pieces with the break-down of colonialism. After the many years he had spent collecting it – after all of the wealth he had accumulated was lost. Yet for once, his heart was not filled with anger nor resentment. For once, the Black Queen knew that he was powerless to stop it. Like the sand surrounding his borders, it all trickled out of his hands. The empire was broken.

Now, dimmed green eyes flicked up and lingered, almost unseeing. A thinned body was wrapped up well in layer after layer of grey, blue, and pinstripes. He squeezed his fists under the table, and tried to listen in on the conversation unfolding in front of him. The setting – Post-war United States, a meeting with two important men and their counterparts. The summer was warm, but it left an uncomfortable feeling inside his ever more frail body. A sickness, or a feeling of loss. His mind was elsewhere.

Across from the English nation and his Prime Minister sat a rather small old man, his glasses as thick as soda bottles rested heavily on his nose as he looked through a pile of papers and sighed softly. Grey eyes looked tired as he shifted in his seat, the chair creaking slightly at his movements and he settled quickly, not liking the loud noise the chair made. It only made it obvious how overwrought and tense it was in the room.

President Truman smiled at the two across from him and folded his hands over the oak table of the meeting room. "Let me say again, how sorry I am that we were not able to hold this meeting at the White House. It's not exactly... appropriate for guests at the moment." He glanced away when he heard a snort come from the large blonde in the chair next to his.

"It's okay. Arthur doesn't like it anyway, what with the burning it down and all." The American nation pulled a pack of Lucky Strike out of his pocket and shook it so that it produced a thin white stick. His skin, hair, and manner were all bright as day. The gloom of the war had barely touched him. Now, in the aftermath, it was him that was the most healthy – and didn't that just give him some _pride_? "Anyone have a light? I forgot mine in the car."

"I hardly think that is appropriate, Alfred. The remark, that is," Arthur said in a stern but controlled tone - he was trying not to snap sarcastically at Alfred in front of their bosses. That would be even more inappropriate behaviour. With a reluctant sigh, however, Arthur reached into his pocket and drew out a silver lighter, which he flicked open to light Alfred's cigarette regardless. "Careful. One false move, and _obviously_ I'll set this entire room alight."

Detecting a frown from his Prime Minister, Arthur obediently sat back down in his place and tucked the lighter away for later use. He mindfully fingered the cigarettes in his pocket, but refused to light up. Alfred was more obsessed, if that were possible, with those smoky sticks. He eyed the American up, somewhat absent-mindedly, as the two political leaders begun their talks.

Alfred smirked and took a small inhale from the cigarette between his fingers, then leaned back as he let the wisps of smoke pool out from his mouth artfully. He licked his lips at the taste and could feel the need for the small stick fade away just slightly. He watched the Prime Minister carefully, intense blue eyes tracking every movement that the man made and it make him smile inside at how quiet and business like the Briton was.

As for Arthur and him. There was nothing Business like about them.

He took another drag off of the cigarette and moved his eyes over to Arthur, blowing the smoke expertly out of his nose. He gave the other nation a small smile and a quirk of his eyebrow to show that he wasn't really even listening to their bosses discussion. Arrogance. It dripped off the American nation like thick honey as he shifted to cross his legs and the English nation felt something brush against his leg.

Arthur flinched. That cocky bastard.

Did Alfred truly believe that it was not worth his time to pay attention? That said, it was not like the Englishman was concentrating to any particular extent either. He was there for formality, to make sure that there was nothing said that he had major objections to. These days, however, he was forced to have an open mind. He was expected to lean towards what was most advantageous for him, and his people. That was why he was tucked away in the smartest suit they could wrangle upon him in these times of relative vulnerability. It was all designed as an appealing proposition, a bid to continue an ever-strong alliance.

Basically, it was to pretend that he was not becoming weaker and less influential as the days go by. A purposeful delusion. Heaven knows, Arthur would not let anyone _pity him_.

It took him till blue eyes met their equivalent pair of jade before Arthur realised that he had been staring at the American for a few minutes now. The tickling sensation that trailed against his leg made his muscles stiffen, both below and above the desk. His eyes darted to their leaders to see if they had noticed his suddenly tense posture. Not that Arthur would slough regardless. He was a disciplined man, and able to feign interest in anything. Deliberate complacency, however, was unacceptable. Arthur shook his leg and gave a sharp look to the American across the desk - a silent warning.

_Not here._

Alfred frowned as his touch was pushed away but he smiled coolly and took another long drag of his Strike before moving his foot back towards the Briton. This time it was easy to tell that Alfred had toed off his dress shoe because when he touched Arthur's clothed calf, it was soft. Not hard and pointy like his shoes.

Alfred let the smoke out of his mouth slowly, acting like he was watching the white plumes roll around and fade when his eyes were trained on the other nation. He laughed when Truman joked about having Alfred meet the King one day, even going as far to make a comment about the lovely Miss. Elizabeth and how he would not mind being shown around England if it was by her. Alfred could tell that comment about Arthur's Princess had made everyone in the room grow deathly quiet, but he really didn't care.

He smiled handsomely at Arthur, his foot moving higher.

Had Arthur been any more straight-laced, he might have stated out loud that he was uncomfortable and wanted Alfred to stop touching him up. However, the fact remained that Arthur did not mention a word. As the foot moved up higher, Arthur's trousers lifted a little too, exposing his legs to the air. A disapproving glance was sent Alfred's way, and he reached under the desk to slap his foot away manually.

His eyes darted to their bosses, before they settled on the handsome American once more. _'Stop that right now_', he mouthed. His eyes flicked from the bosses and back to Alfred again, hinting something. Hiding something else.

The American frowned deeply at his advances being swatted off a second time and he rolled his eyes as he moved back in his seat, actually listening to Arthur's warning this time. When Truman asked him his opinion on a matter that he hadn't quite been listening to he smiled slightly and shrugged. "I think I would be able to focus better after a good meal and some sound sleep. Don't you think, Boss?" He tilted his head cutely at his President and watched with satisfaction as the man unwillingly gave in.

"Yes, I guess we have been in here for awhile now." To prove his point Truman turned to look at the ornate clock on the oak table and nodded. "Yes. Good, how about we break for today. Come back tomorrow around eight?" Both Americans, Nation and person, glanced over at the two Britons, looking for their nod of approval. Blue eyes held green as he waited for their answers.

Self-righteous boy. Alfred oozed charisma, and got exactly what he wanted. Now, since Alfred had rocketed to the top, he had grown cocky on victory. Perhaps that was what got Arthur's heart pumping. Whether he wanted to or not, he was drawn to power. Drawn to the protection and security that it provides.

C. R. Attlee nodded, and approved the end of the meeting for today. They gathered their briefcases and stood, preparing to leave the office. Arthur was unusually quiet. As his Prime Minister looked over at him to see if he was about to follow, Arthur shook his head and explained that he wished to have a moment to speak with Alfred. If they were suspicious, they did not impose, allowing them to have the room to themselves by leaving ahead of them to attend to their own business.

As soon as they left - Arthur banged his briefcase back down on the desk and scowled at Alfred, pressing his hands to the wood too. His shoulders were hunched and tense, body language expressing annoyance more than any other emotion. "What the Dickens were you doing that for? You could rumble us."

There was a long pause before Alfred let out a soft snort of laughter at the others temper and he leaned across the table to stub out his cigarette in the ash tray before he spoke. "I could rumble us? Oh, dear. Not that," he replied sarcastically and moved to press a button on the small intercom at the end of the table. When it made a loud click he smiled widely and leaned in close to the small speaker, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly. "Betty, sweetness. Will you bring me and Mr. Kirkland something to drink? Our meeting was pretty rough."

There was another click. "Of course, Mr. Jones." The sweet voice poured from the small machine. "Whiskey or Gin?" Alfred glanced over at Arthur to silently ask what the man preferred, but before Arthur could even say Alfred just smiled and clicked the button again. "Surprise us."

Arthur watched him with a vague air of suspicion, especially after the way he asked for their drinks. So playful in tone, cheeky almost. Arthur recognised it - it was confidence, believe in himself, haughtiness more than anything else. Too right. Right now, Alfred was unrivalled. How Arthur missed that constant energetic feeling. With his mind in the past, the Englishman took his seat again, looking up at Alfred on the desk with a condescending stare. "You are abusing your strength, do you know that? Alfred, you certainly cannot go around doing whatever you would like. Not to mention - feeling me up during a meeting? What are you, four? _Please_."

Alfred's eyes trailed after Arthur unabashed as he moved back from the intercom and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He smirked as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket and put it in his mouth as he leaned over the broad table, blonde eyelashes fluttering slightly as he looked at Arthur. "I highly doubt a four year old would be feeling you up, unless there is a new epidemic sweeping the children in England," he smiled coyly, his lips curving around the slender stick as a few strands from his oiled blonde hair fell to frame his young face.

"Light me up again would you, Baby doll?"

"Yes, obviously. My children are perverse, well sexed Americans," Arthur rolled his eyes. What a stupid thing to say. He almost criticised himself for saying such an unrealistic age in the first place, but he persevered in his attempt to make Alfred's supremacy crack just a little bit. He hated that he was attracted to it.

Arthur reached into his pocket again, pulling out his own cigarette before the thin Briton lent over Alfred and lit his. He then popped his own stick into his lips, and let the end touch Alfred's till his was lit up as well. He took a deep inhale, and sighed the smoke out through his mouth. "Don't call me 'Baby doll'. It's indecent."

Blue eyes lit up when Arthur leaned close to light his cigarette with the tip of Alfred's and he let out a soft happy sigh. "Well, then what am I supposed to call you? Not Sugar, Sweetie, Sweetheart, Doll face, Kitten or even Baby. What the hell am I supposed to call you, Artie?" He inhaled on his stick and held the smoke in for a bit as he thought, then let it out in a rush. That Brit, so stubborn. He just wanted to be a little endearing. Besides, the British had way more pet names at hand. "Why not let me call you pet names? I mean we have already fucked enough times where I think it's appropriate."

Arthur's eyes opened as if now on high alert, and coughed up some of his cigarette smoke that had gone the wrong way. He looked over to the door, afraid that _perhaps_ there might have been someone outside that would hear. Then his accusing glance was back on the American. "Don't say that so easily!" He said in a warning, perhaps even afraid tone. "Look, Jones, you're lucky I don't clobber you for all of those pet names—I'm not one of your flimsy little… I don't know, _women_ or something. Do not treat me like that."

Alfred opened his mouth to retort but the small knock on the door made him shut it quickly and turn to look at the small pastel colored door. "Yes?" He called as he frowned at the Briton for being so difficult, taking another inhale then smiling and letting the smoke glide out of his mouth when he saw the door open.

Brilliant auburn red hair poked its way through the crack in the door way, while cherry red lips smiled softly."I brought the drinks, Mr. Jones." The woman at the door said softly and moved into the room when Alfred motioned her to come in. Her silky curls were pulled into a neat up do that showed off her pretty white neck while her red Chanel dress hugged her slim figure attractively. She smiled politely at Arthur and handed him his glass of whiskey before moving over to Alfred and handing him his own glass.

"Thank you, Betty." Alfred smiled widely, his perfectly straight and white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent light as he took a sip, and then put a hand on her waist not hiding the fact that he was looking her over. "You look very nice today, Sweetie. Is that a new dress?"

She giggled softly and placed her hand over his, a playful look coming into her light blue eyes as she moved a little closer to the sitting American. "Yes, it is. How nice of you to notice. It's from France."

There was a roll of eyes, before a very long breath of smoke was exhaled into the room. Arthur seemed to be more preoccupied with his cigarette than watching Alfred undoubtedly flirt with the lady. _Well_. Excuse him for being proper, but he did not believe in showing off one of his_ lays_ in front of another. If Alfred claimed he had not slept with that _Betty_, Arthur would have accused him quite readily of lying. He stubbed his cigarette out aggressively, and took his drink.

"Thank you. Betty, was it?" Arthur said in an admittedly non-courteous voice. Yes, perhaps he was usually a gentleman. Perhaps. But not when Alfred's eyes were enthusiastically drinking her in, his nose and throat gargling at her perfume. Whatever happened to chivalry, or at least pretending that you were not all over each other as much as you clearly were? He hid his own endeavours plenty well, thank you very much. Very much indeed. "If you don't mind, Mr. Jones and I would like to return to our business."

He faced Alfred and gave a false, obviously forced smile. Oh, that berk. Could he faciliate a madder feeling in him if he tried? So, Arthur was prone to jealousy and Alfred knew that. Why else would be act like this? To punish him for not caving into his endearing phrases? 'Sweetie'. That was his name.

_His._

The pretty little red head blinked and then smiled apologetically over at Arthur. "Yes, of course. I'm very sorry, Mr. Kirkland." She nodded her head to him in apology and turned back to Alfred with a soft smile. "I should get back to my desk."

Alfred nodded then stood up to walk her over to the door himself, hand remaining at her waist. He gave her a peck on the cheek and whispered something about next Thursday before she blushed and walked out.

By the time she had left, Arthur was standing stiffly on the other side of the desk, looking fixatedly at the ash tray. His face was redder than usual, and the reason why was clear. No one should have to listen to someone they were having sex with hook up with another person. It just devalued them - made him one of many. "So... so you're still having sex with other people." Arthur said, drumming his fingers almost nervously on the desk.

Alfred closed the door softly and then turned to look at Arthur, not even worrying when some ashes fell from his cigarette on to the carpet floor. "I don't see how that is any of your business." He replied in a bit of a clipped tone before he moved back to the table to stub out his second cigarette. "Besides, it's not like Francis is the best at keeping your escapades a secret." Alfred screwed up his face slightly, raising his eyebrows and cocking out his hip to the side. "_Oh, you should have seen Arthur the uzer night. He had so much in 'im that 'e was willing to do anything I wanted. Oh, 'ow fun it was_," Alfred mocked, the overly French accent he used making it sound like he was hacking up a hairball.

Arthur would have laughed, if he was not the butt of the joke. He sat atop the desk - oh, shoot him if you dared - and watched the American act. The jutting out hip taught Arthur's attention, and his eyes focused on the prize before he could remember the line his eyes held and shook it off. "At least I limit myself to you and Francis. Besides, the only reason I bother with him is because we're in an open relationship. You were the one that said that you were going to see other people. What am I supposed to do, keep chaste for you if you're going off with some pretty bird?"

Alfred's face turned sour when Arthur brought up that up, opening his mouth to tell Arthur what was what but then he just closed it with a soft snap and fixed his jacket. "Whatever, I don't want to fight with you. It's stupid anyway." He picked up his drink and downed the rest of the golden drink, not even flinching when it burned down his throat. He set the glass down and licked his lips then glanced over at Arthur and his own drink that the Briton had only been nursing. "You going to finish that?" He asked as he fished his car keys from the pocket in his jacket, running his fingers along the cool metal ridges.

Arthur gave Alfred an uncomfortable stare, before he knocked his head and the glass back, downing his whiskey in a few quick gulps. Slam, the glass was back on the desk, and he hopped off of it in order to follow after the American.

"Does that answer your question?" He asked plainly. Their relations had gone vaguely cold now. Mostly out of uncertainty. Arthur could not help but wonder if Alfred flaunted his prowess in front of him on purpose. He already knew that he was sexy. He was already hooked. He did not need to reminded of his decreasing worth, and it annoyed him to be reminded.

Alfred sighed at Arthur's attitude and knew it was going to be a long night if that stupid stick did not come out of Arthur's ass. He rolled his shoulders as he walked over to the door, opening it up for Arthur to pass through. After they had moved to the lobby Alfred let Betty know that they were done for the day and that she was able to leave if she wanted.

"Come on, I'll take you to Le château bleu. Because I know how much you _love_ the French."

If it was a dig at Arthur hating everything French or a comment about him and Francis's late night activities, Arthur not know. The American quickly followed the comment up with chatter about his brand new buick, circling his arm around Arthur's waist – only for it to be slapped away again.

* * *

><p>Dinner was better that Arthur had expected. At least Alfred had introduced him to a fairly good restaurant, and he refused to let him pay for anything – though he did get a cheeky few snubs in, like how he would be paying for it anyway since Arthur's money mostly came from him, the bloody fecker. There were some comments about weight too. Concerns rather than amusements and titbits. Arthur had tried to refuse the situation by turning the focus of attention away from himself, in pointing out that right now, there were people that were most certainly worse off. The conversation had not lingered.<p>

"I told you to get coloured key caps. Without them I'd never know which is for my cabinet in my house, and which is for the cabinet in parliament," Arthur scoffed, hand on hip.

Alfred frowned slightly when he fumbled for the right key. God, it wasn't like he was drunk. He had only had two Tom Collins and a Mint Julep, but he was still struggling to figure out which key on his ring fit into the house lock. "Ah! Got it!" He cried happily when the key slipped into the lock soundlessly and turned. Pulling it out of the lock, Alfred smiled at the Briton over his shoulder as he turned the knob and opened the door. "Welcome to my humble abode."

It was anything but humble.

When Alfred brought Arthur into his house – one that was larger than he had expected to see in these times. The reminders that Alfred was still doing well, perhaps even thriving, were cropping up everywhere. While Arthur was resentful, deep down, it was not unaccompanied by acceptance. Honestly, he was impressed. Proud, maybe – though the more he thought about it, it did strike him quite deeply. Alfred had only really done so well after Arthur had lost his grip on the boy and his policies. Still, he had opened his arms to a genius and a hero - there was something golden about that boy from many years ago. Was it really a surprise that he had flourished so well?

Instead of maintaining his bitterness, Arthur caved in. He kept a relatively pleased expression on his face and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes in the hallway out of manners. He looked over at Alfred, watching the American and wondering how he felt now - living in a world where he was the main actor in control of everything, atop the highest stool. Arthur knew that seat well, but somehow, he thought that Alfred would be far more courteous. "You're doing well for yourself."

Alfred smiled as he slipped his shoes off as well, tugging on the knot in his tie as he moved further into the living room. He always loved coming home and walking on the plush carpet with his sore feet, it made him feel like all the problems were being left outside the door. "Mmm? You think? I still have tons of Jews coming over, so I guess it's not that great. But hey, you know what people say, they are good with their money so hopefully they apply that with their new home."

The carpet was a beautiful stainless beige that looked very soft to the touch, while the wall on the adjacent side to them looked rough and harsh in contrast. The fireplace was neatly kept with the television off to the side, a newer model – of course, Arthur could tell. He was not shy in demonstrating how well he could manage himself. Above the fireplace was a multicolored sunburst clock which read eight fifty, far too late for anything good to be on air.

Alfred made his way over to the small bar on the left side of the room and got them two glasses. "Something to settle dinner?" He offered as he started to pour some rum into the glasses, then reached down to the small fridge and opened a bottle of Cola. "Though maybe we'll start to see them in a different light someday, like we did with your brother and Romano's lot that kept flooding in here."

"Oh don't remind me," Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes. He had only just left the area two years ago when the Israeli state was formed. Relations in that area were tense. Eventually he just had to declare that it wasn't his problem. "So many identities, fighting other the same bloody patch of land. I'm surprised that you let them all in. I'm glad to see the back of that sodding part of the world,"

As Alfred moved them on, Arthur came to join him at his bar. He lingered as Alfred poured cola into his glass, and took a hefty sip. "Ah," he exhaled, smacking his chilled lips. "Well, you'll get used to them. Not like you're new to sudden influxes of people. Nor am I, really."

"Mmm...I guess so." Alfred poured his with cola and then sipped the drink thoughtfully, moving to push his glasses up with his middle finger. "So, what do you want to do? I have some board games." Blue eyes flashed quickly in warning, telling the older Nation not to dare make a 'child' comment about him owning board games. "There's also some magazines you might like. Got the ladies one for you cause they show you new patterns for sewing and they have some cooking stuff as well."

"Is that a jibe against my masculinity, or a jibe against my cooking?" Arthur said, giving Alfred an annoyed look. He huffed and took another strong sip of his drink. "The magazine will do lovely, I thank you. I'm not doing it for you, I would just like to see if there are any additional crocheting techniques for me to pick up," he said matter-of-factly and looked up, daring Alfred to make another leer.

Alfred smirked slightly as he sipped his drink slowly, eye never leaving Arthur's bright green ones. He put his glass down and moved over to the Briton smoothly, his feet barely making a sound against the carpet. Alfred sat on one of the small stools set up by the home bar and reached out, looping his arms around Arthur's waist and pulling the Briton in-between his legs.

He smiled as he watched the sandy blonde and leaned up to peck those thin pale lips, hand moving to rest on Arthur's rear. "So... Did you miss me, Baby?"

Arthur gave a small grunt as Alfred pulled him right in. As Alfred squeezed his arse, he rolled his eyes a little to disguise how he really felt. At first, he had been uncertain of being treated in this way by the man, _as_ a man – but the feeling slowly became subdued. He began to appreciate that wide hand clasping his buttock through his clothes and without them. Not that he was willing to admit it. No, he would not cave in so easily. Still, as Alfred pecked him on the lips, Arthur could not help but kiss back.

"I told you not to call me that..." Arthur trailed off, as he rested his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "It's only been a few months since we last got together, Jones... Of _course,_ I've missed you."

Alfred smiled widely when he heard that the other had missed him – hopefully just as badly – the smile showing exactly how _young_ the man actually was. "Well, that makes me very happy." The American purred softly and moved to kiss at Arthur's neck, soft pecks at first but they slowly grew in pressure until Arthur felt something wet slide across a patch of skin on his neck. "How much did you miss me?" Alfred cooed into his ear, both hands gripping Arthur's butt as he pulled him closer.

Arthur took a sharp intake of breath as he was dragged ever closer to Alfred. He shut his eyes tightly, concentrating on the feel of those wide hands resting on his plump flesh. Yes, Alfred had let those hands get very acquainted to that area, and it was like Arthur was powerless to resist. There was something about Alfred. Something that he appreciated, and wanted to treasure. A sparkling hope in questionable times. Arthur, however, was conscious of dignity. Much as he liked the hands on him, he smacked one away. "The night is still more youthful than I am, and you already are thinking of darker things," he commented, and his hands grabbed handfuls of Alfred's jacket. "I missed you, Jones. I_ missed_ you."

Alfred pouted when his hand was smacked away, but he smiled against when Arthur grabbed his jacket and he leaned in closer. "Mmmm... why won't you let me touch you? I know you like it..." He kissed Arthur's neck again, letting one of his hands slide up and down Arthur's side. "So... what have you been up to while we have been apart?" Alfred's hand was starting to work on Arthur's belt buckle. "Anything _big_," He smirked as his hand brushed against Arthur's crotch through his slacks. "Going on in England?"

So they were getting randier - getting more in the mood. Arthur gave Alfred an uncertain look, and he shivered as those hands roamed his body over his clothing - a taste of what would come next. "Careful," he muttered as Alfred fidgeted with his belt buckle, only dawdling to play with him, surely. "Nothing special. Politics, the build up to elections, sorting out the rest of Europe, a few dinners with Francis..."

Larger hands stilled for only a second when he heard the French man's name but Alfred swallowed the lump that had quickly formed in his throat and kept moving to undo the English nation's pants. "Oh? That sounds... nice." He could help the stab of jealousy that grew heavier as he thought about the two of them. "What all did you two do?" He bit down a little bit on Arthur's neck.

Arthur winced as Alfred bit his neck, though did not force him away. As he liberated him by undoing his flies, Arthur had to respond by tightening his legs shut to stop them falling down. He had lost weight since he first bought them, but the 'make do and mend' philosophy was still heavily with him since the war era. Even now he was still suffering from lack of rations and commodities. But he was not one to complain, especially when faced with Alfred, who seemed to be doing so well.

Back onto the subject of Francis, Arthur was uncertain of what to say. "I don't see... ngh. I don't see why it is your business," Arthur muttered. "He's not you, so why don't we forget about him for now?"

Motion stopped all together as the American went very still.

"None of my business?" He whispered softly and suddenly his hand was in Arthur's hair, gripping it tightly and forcing the blonde head back roughly. Alfred stood quickly and pressed the Briton back against the bar, a soft growl rising in his throat as he glared down at the man. "None of my business, my ass." He yanked on Arthur's hair a bit, forcing the Nation's head back further in an almost painful way. "Did you forget who's helping you fucking _stand_, Arthur? Did you forget that without me right now you would have barely anything? So, I think it's in my_ right_ to say that what you do with that sick pervert is my god damned business."

As Alfred shoved him to the bar and started uttering these sharp, hate-filled words, Arthur could barely believe what he was hearing. He stared at Alfred, completely_ astounded_. How dare he—? "What the Hell, Alfred!" He pushed him forwards, managing to get the American to let go of his hair. Arthur flattened it with his hands. "Why do you care what I do with Francis? It's just occasional sex! Besides—I don't ask what you do when you're off with your many... I don't know... _floosies_! Why did you rub it in my face earlier that you were_ clearly_ sleeping with that woman at the office, hm? And don't bring politics into this! Why can_ you_ flounce about with whoever you want, and then feel justified in doing this to me? I'm just one of many to you."

Alfred threw his hands up into the air and turned around, moving more towards the middle of the living room so he could get away from Arthur, but still not his words. "Are you serious? You're bring _this_ up again?" The larger nation turned back to glare at Arthur heatedly. "Why does this always come up as an issue? Last time we talked you were perfectly fine with the open relationship! I remember your words exactly!" Alfred raised his nose in the air and huffed, his body posture moving more stiffly as he rolled his eyes upward.

" _'Alllfred, I would very much like it if we could keep this between us. I do not want anyone to think that the nation of England has to whore himself out in order to keep afloat_.' God, and you said that right after we fucked! Like it meant nothing!"

"Oh, _don't_—! The fact is that _you_ showed off in front of me earlier that you were hooking up with that Betty person!" Arthur pointed out strongly. "Now, as soon as I mention that I have had a dinner or two with Francis, you go bananas at me for letting someone else have a piece of me! Whose view is bigoted here, Alfred? I told you that it was none of your business because I don't want to bring whatever I do with Francis into this. Are you comfortable with me seeing other people or not? Because I'm sorry - I don't want to be just another one of your bed partners, here to be _your_ woman and to cater to _your_ needs while you won't let me see other people too!"

"No!" Alfred roared loudly, not caring if the neighbors heard him because he was pissed. "Don't you think it's pretty fucking obvious I don't like seeing you with other people!" He raked a hand through his oiled hair, making the strands hang more into his face than before. "But I'm not the one who right after we had a pretty amazing night together gets up and says that you don't want anyone to know about 'us'! I'm sorry, but usually when you're not seeing someone you see _other_ people!"

The 'no' had made Arthur take a step backwards in weakness, shying away from the noise and the ferocity in his voice, before Arthur became quickly frustrated with himself and his partner. He gathered his strength back, and stepped up to Alfred. "You know what? I said that, Alfred, because I was worried that others will think that I'm with you for the money - and I'm not. I value what we have – no, _had_ – higher than that, you tosser!" Arthur snapped, trying to justify his point. His shoulders quaked with upset and rage, face going slightly red.

"The only reason I ever even_ thought_ of letting Francis _fuck me _is because _you_ wanted to see others!" He pushed Alfred stubbornly in his chest, exerting some of his anger. "Do you _get it yet—?_"

Something snapped inside the large Nation when he felt those small hands forcefully push against him. Quickly every single thing he had learned about control and being decent slipped away, leaving only the animal instincts he had as a small child and he saw red. Without any warning to the Briton, Alfred stepped closer and then roughly shoved the smaller nation back using every bit of strength he had. Arthur flew backwards and the small of his back met the bar counter painfully with a sickeningly loud thud.

The whoosh of the air had momentarily confused Arthur, and then there was a loud thud. It took only milliseconds for his body to realise that it had been_ him_ that had made it when he collided with the front of the bar. Arthur cried out in pain and found himself buckling - he grabbed the bar stool to try keep himself off of the ground, and pulled a terribly pained face as he recoiled in pain. Had Alfred done that even _months_ earlier, Arthur might have reopened a wound that had not recovered well post-war. Green eyes, which Arthur had to fight against to stop from watering, looked over at Alfred in shock. He was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth to speak, as he dragged himself back up to standing and winced from the horrible ache, but no sound came out.

Alfred blinked for a moment and when he saw Arthur's face contort in pain guilt quickly washed through him as he started to calm down. He stood still for the longest time, not knowing what to do. He, one of the strongest nations in the world, had just pushed Arthur, a nation who was only starting to heal from everything that had happened during the war. He curled his hands into fists as he looked down at his feet, not quite sure what to do. He_ should_ apologize and do whatever Arthur asked of him, but his pride kept him where he stood.

"I..." He scowled when his voice cracked softly and he cleared his throat loudly. "I think we should go to bed. You know where the guest room is." He didn't want to be around Arthur right now, not like this. So, with that he went into the kitchen and out the back door, quickly pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up with the lighter he kept out there.

Arthur stared at him as he ran out. If he were an animal, Arthur suspected he might have had his tail between his legs and his ears scooped low. Slowly, Arthur gathered himself onto the stool. He covered his mouth, and reached behind to rub the sore spot where his back had hit the bar. Alfred was horrifically strong. _Horrifically_. He took a few long, deep breaths to calm himself down. Then, he looked over at where the American had been, reminiscing those moments. It scared him to remember how annoyed Alfred had looked.

"Dammit, Arthur," he murmured to himself, and pressed his hand to the bar. "You don't want to be scared of someone that you love."

* * *

><p>About an hour – or maybe two – later, Arthur was lying underneath the covers of the bed that was stowed away in Alfred's guest bedroom. A heavy weight clung to his chest, making it throb. He could not settle this bad feeling, consuming and eating him with guilt. Earlier was not wholly his fault, but he cared about Alfred. A lot. It was only because Alfred said that they should be with other people that he dared to even think about letting someone embrace him. If only the American believed that.<p>

Because Francis was willing to give him a little bit of consolation. Did he love Francis, or even want to be with him? Not on your nelly. He sighed, and rolled over, tugging the sheets with him. His back still hurt so much, but that was the least of his problem. How come Alfred could play about, but he was not allowed? He didn't even want to. It was just unfair, and he reacted badly to that. He wanted Alfred to himself, because he was selfish and he knew it. He did not want to look away from Alfred at all. He just felt like... he had to. Dammit.

He... you know. _Him_.

Loved.

Arthur laid there for what seemed like hours. It had been, actually. Soon, the small clock on the dresser read past one in the morning. There wasn't a sound in the house, and Arthur did not even know if Alfred had come back inside. The only sound Arthur could hear was the soft ticking noise of the bed side clock. That is, until he heard the door knob turn and the door to his room creak open.

There stood Alfred in the doorway, shadows covering most of his body and face. Arthur could tell he had shed his jacket and tie, leaving him in only his button up. "Arthur...?" He called softly, moving into the room quietly though stumbling slightly. "Arthur... are you awake?" Alfred moved to sit on the bed and watched the still figure under the covers for a minute.

It would be lying to say that Arthur had not fallen asleep, because he had. Only for a short duration, though. He was relatively restless. He always was when he worried. He got sick often that way. Though while he was awake now, and had been for over thirty minutes, Arthur was determined not to let on. He tried to keep his breathing steady, even as Alfred sat down next to him. He could feel the mattress shift with the added weight. Then, of course, he remembered that sleeping people were not silent and unmoving. He tugged the covers again, and made a light 'nn' noise, to cover his tracks.

The American was quiet for a long time before he shifted, moving to lay on the bed on his side, facing Arthur's back. Alfred took a deep breath before he spoke again, reaching up to let Arthur's soft sandy blonde hair run through his fingers. "I know... I know you're mad at me. You have every right to be, I went too far. I...I shouldn't have pushed you." There was another silence before Alfred shifted a little closer, breath now ghosting over the back of Arthur's neck.

Alfred reeked of booze.

"I just hate knowing I can't tell the world you're mine..."

Arthur opened his eyes for a moment, considered talking to him, but then they were pressed shut again. Wasn't it silly that Alfred would rather talk to him honestly when he slept, rather than to his face? In the interests of discovery, Arthur remained quiet, just listening. Alfred was being so sweet, and it hurt thinking of what had happened and why. Knowing Alfred had smoked a lot and drunk a lot because of _him_—well. That was the worst thing.

There was a soft sniff before Alfred moved to let his hand rest on Arthur's hip over the sheets. "Why do you always have to be so far away? You... No matter what I do I'm never good enough to be with you. I'm the strongest nation in the world... and you still don't want to be with me," the American nation shuddered softly as he let out a small sad whine, then an odd chuckle. "You know... the other day when I was in bed with this one girl... I accidently said you name. Ha... she left me right there, yelling about how I was a homosexual and that I was disgusting. But, I couldn't help it."

Arthur tried not to smile. It was warming, but at the same time, it was so sad to hear him speaking like this. Like he was utterly hopeless, and that he thought Arthur did not appreciate him. How wrong he was. He would probably never know the sheer _extent_ to which Arthur knew he was wrong. Still, he held on. What else would Alfred do or confess?

"Sometimes...I envy my people. How they have jobs that at most only make them leave the ones they love for a week, but they always come back. Come back to the ones that they care about most." His fingers started to trace patterns on Arthur's covered hip, pressing closer as he spoke so that Arthur's back was flush against his chest. "If I could... I would have you as my wife... or Husband... or whatever. I don't care. That way I could always come home to your sewing, swearing, drinking and your God awful cooking... but most of all to you."

"...You bastard," Arthur said sharply through the silence that Alfred had created. He did not listen to any exclamations of surprise that came from the American, and just swiveled around so that he was facing the man. His eyebrows were tugged, lines on his forehead indicating worry, and eyes heavy with upset and blame. "Do you get off on saying things like that to me?" He asked. "Alfred—You wanted to sleep around with other people. I never wanted to do that. _Never_. If anyone is to blame for you and I not... not _having that_, it's you. I was and am..." He swallowed, and trailed off.

_Yours_. Always had been.

Alfred kept his head down, not looking into Arthur's eyes as his alcohol flooded mind tried to think. "I'm sorry," He said softly, pulling his hand away from Arthur so that he could tug on them nervously. "I just...When you told me not to tell anyone after... after that night. I was hurt. I had thought I would be able to tell everyone that Arthur Kirkland was mine... But I couldn't. So, I guess I wanted to hurt you back." His cheeks colored in shame at how childish that sounded when he said it out loud, it had made perfect sense at the time and in his head.

"I _slept_ with _Francis_—!" Arthur said sharply in response. "It wouldn't have happened if—...!" He shook his head as he looked at Alfred, and his face was filled with unspoken hurt. All he wanted to do was to keep the reputation of their relationship safe. Alfred went too far. He made them branch off to other people when Arthur was there for him, wholly, already. Who was the one that should feel this incomprehensible guilt? Arthur glared in another direction, trying not to communicate just how pained he really was. "Well done on the 'hurting me back' front. _You fucking well proved your point_."

Blue eyes widened and he sat up quickly, moving so that he had Arthur trapped between his arms as he loomed over the Briton. "I'm _sorry_, Arthur! Please, you gotta know I didn't want for all this shit to happen. I just didn't want to be seen as the weaker one by clinging to you and whining that I wanted to go steady or something." Alfred bowed his head and bit his lip as he tried to think of some way to make this all better again, but he couldn't. Damage had been done, and he didn't have some magic eraser that could fix all his life's mistakes.

"Arthur... I know what I did was wrong and I'm sorry." He glanced up to meet green in the dark room and swallowed thickly. "I..." He was supposed to be brave. Be the hero. He was the United States of America. So, he tightly closed his eyes and waited for the worst after he spit out those three words. "I love you—!"

Instead of a recoil in alarm or astonishment, as Alfred might have expected, there were a fresh pair of lips pressing against his. Arthur had kissed him - which was a surprise, because Arthur was the sort that waited for the other party to dive in and show him that they wanted a piece. The kiss was chaste, not searching for anything more, just expressing true affection. Finally, when Arthur was done, they pulled apart slowly - millimetre by millimetre. "...I love you too." He confessed, before he lowered the hand that had gone on Alfred's cheek, and squeezed it into a fist. "I mean, I care about you, you idiot. So..."

Lips were pressed against Arthur's quickly, pressing hurriedly down stopping anything else the Briton could say. "Shhh," Alfred clumsily said against his lips, one hand moving to cup the underside of Arthur's head while the other went to rest over the English nation's chest, right over his heart. "Stop... Don't pull back after that. Honesty. I want that from you." He then took Arthur's hand in his and pressed it against his own chest, his heart beating wildly even through his shirt. "You make it do that. Like no one else."

Thump, thump, thump, thump - a quicker succession than a regular heartbeat. Arthur knew what that meant. His own heart ached at the thought as he realised that he was making Alfred throb for him. He laughed under his breath humourlessly, because he knew how silly that thought was. He looked up at Alfred, and reached above him to brush some hairs out of Alfred's perfect eyes.

"So..." he said. "What does this mean for us, Alfred? Are we..." He tried not to look ecstatic. It was indecent. "Is it—_just us_?"

Alfred smiled and leaned down to nuzzle Arthur's neck, kissing it a few times as he hummed quietly. "Do I get to hold your hand at meetings and call you mine?" He whispered against the pale smooth skin of Arthur's cheek.

Arthur frowned. He was not terribly sure about advertising their relationship. It was risky. What if the rest of the world reacted badly to their union? He thought about it for a moment, and looked up at Alfred. This time, unlike the first time, he caved in. "Yes. You may," he said, before he held a finger up. "But first! You, sir, are going to get in contact with Betty and—In fact—_All _of your upcoming 'dates', and you are going to cancel, right now!"

"N-Now?" Alfred croaked and frowned down at the small Briton under him, shaking his head quickly. "Arthur, it's almost one in the morning. It's not like _they_ have secretaries that can take down messages for them." He pouted as he leaned down to kiss Arthur's lips softly, a hand moving under the covers to rub at the Briton's side. "Can I at least wait until morning..?"

Begrudgingly, the Briton's shoulders sagged and he sighed. Yes, he honestly did want to have that over, but Alfred was right. The time was not of the essence. Still, might as well get something out of this. "Fine. But I have two demands. One, you have to call all those ladies, or sirs for that matter, and tell them that it's not happening anymore. And, two..." He trailed off, and found his hands rubbing up Alfred's warm but expansive chest. "...You may take me to your bedroom right now, and we can assure that we get a very cozy night."

The American didn't need much more persuading as he leaned down to capture Arthur's lips with his, doing his best to pull the covers away from the Englishman's body. He smiled as he tugged at Arthur's flannel top and nipped at his bottom lip before pulling away completely. "How is it you're still pretty foxy in those stupid plaid flannels?" He pecked Arthur's lips again before he hopped off the bed and leaned down to swoop Arthur up like he was carrying his new bride.

"That is the best compliment I have ever received from someone that has seen me in my matching pyjamas," Arthur commented. Ah, satire. He reaffirmed their lips, and again, and again. Sweet, noble kisses to pass the time as Alfred carried him to the main bedroom. It was funny, really. This was the first time Arthur had ever not complained when Alfred treated him like this - like he was protecting and taking care of him. Arthur hated it. Just—Well. Perhaps a one off, eh? A one-off to start many. "Are you sure I am going to be enough for you, Jones? Will your romantic urges be sated?"

Alfred laughed loudly as he actually _kicked_ his bedroom door open, carrying Arthur in and tossing him down onto the springy mattress. "Trust me, you may act all poised and proper in front of other people. But you get downright dirty when it comes to the horizontal tango." Alfred waggled his brow at his reference to Antonio's dancing. The Spaniard had been far to eagar to show off when they had last met. He quickly crawled on top of Arthur and kissed him deeply, hand moving to the small buttons of Arthur's soft top.

Arthur bounced on the bed when he was tossed down, and his heart did a flip in his chest as his partner – _his_ partner, mind – made his way on top and trapped him under his body. Arthur reached up and tugged at his buttons to help Alfred tug the article of clothing off of him quicker. Alfred was right - once you got him in bed, which was a skill for someone to do these days, he was stunning. Foxismonitous. Arthur pressed up against the kiss, letting their lips smoothly glide over one another's.

Alfred continued to dominate the kiss and when the last button was proving to be a problem he decided to just forget being careful and ripped at Arthur's shirt, causing the button to pop off and land somewhere in the room. "Finally." He gasped against the Briton's lips and moved to splay his cool hand over Arthur's warm chest. Looking down, he couldn't help but smile at how much darker his skin was compared to the others almost paper white color.

"You should get more sun, Sweets. You got the cream down, but you're missing the peaches." He joked moving down to kiss Arthur's exposed collar bone, hands moving to play with the waist band of the other nation's bottoms.

"Oh, do shut up, Alfred," Arthur said as he gazed upwards at his lover and watched those thin lips tug into a very defined smile. He ran his fingers up the tanned and broad arms of his partner, although they were concealed by his crisp white shirt, tightening them around the taut muscles for his amusement. "You know you like me like this. Pale. It's character." He pointed out. Once upon a time, people loved a pale complexion. It was the sign of nobility - no need to work one's back off in the sun. He shifted further up the bed, till his head was pressed against the pillows.

He let Arthur move as he stood up from the bed and started to tug at his tie until he was able to pull it over his head. He threw the thin black piece of silk to the floor and started to unbutton his work shirt, his dog tags jingling against his undershirt now that they had room to move. He let his shirt slip off his shoulders and plucked at the tight undershirt before moving to start undoing his pants.

After he had removed his slacks he gave Arthur a small show by reaching his arms up and stretching, lifting up onto the balls of his feet to show off his strong calf muscles. He knew he was good looking. Even in an undershirt and briefs.

Alfred's good looking body, instead of being met with praise, was immediately met with a firm pillow. Arthur had thrown it, smacking the American right in his abdomen. From the successful look on Arthur's face, he had hit his mark. "Pity," he commented. "I was hoping I would bruise your massive ego." Arthur curled his finger in a 'come hither' movement, and waited for Alfred to come join him. He lifted one of his feet. "You can start with the socks."

Alfred rolled his eyes and moved down to pick up the pillow, tossing it back onto the bed and narrowly missing Arthur's head. "Pfff. As if anyone could." He remarked and climbed up on the bed, stopping when he came to Arthur's lifted leg. He snickered slightly as he took the small foot that was offered to him in his hand and kissed one of the sock covered toes. "Now I know I'm sleeping with an old man. Only old people wear their socks to bed." He grinned as he moved up to start peeling the sock off of the Briton's foot.

"Only young people complain about their toes being cold when they're in bed without finding a clever but simple solution," Arthur remarked back as he held his foot up for Alfred, keeping his toes nicely pointed with precision. At the very least, Arthur could control his body. "Maybe I should keep them on?" He said in a tone that was mockingly seductive, and he pinched the fabric of his pyjama trousers so he could shimmy them down a little. They were a bit baggy on him, and with not much surprise. Arthur was a bundle of bones right now and not too much else.

Alfred stopped when Arthur suggested leaving the socks on, and with a growing smile he started to roll the sock back onto Arthur's leg. "You always have the best ideas," he pushed the Briton's leg back down onto the bed and moved in to give him a firm kiss. "Now, stop being a stupid tease and let's get these off you." He growled out and gripped the hem of Arthur's bottoms and pulled, sliding them easily off those slim hips and down Arthur's long legs.

Alfred blushed when he saw that Arthur was not wearing any kind of undergarment and he shook his head slightly as a smile came onto his face. He could make a comment on how Arthur was super perverted or if he had been expecting this to happen tonight. But he didn't. He just stroked Arthur's stomach gently and lifted a bare leg so he could kiss it. "You are..."

Skinny.

Malnourished.

All Bones.

"You're beautiful, Arthur."

After watching Alfred trail off and stare, Arthur's shoulders sagged a little. Oh, yes, he knew that look. He had seen others give it to those that had not got such baggy clothes to disguise it, or substantial clothes for that matter. Arthur pushed himself up, flexibility showing as he pressed closer to Alfred even with his leg suspended by the American in the air. He took Alfred's chin in his hand, and made certain that the other male was staring at him in the eyes. "You _know_ there are worse people out there than me," Arthur told him, before letting go of his lover's chin. He regarded him worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I..." Alfred ducked his head, remembering how Arthur had almost crumbled when he had pushed him earlier today – and how the other times they had slept together, Arthur always seemed ready to pass out after only two rounds.

"I don't want to break you." He whispered softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on Arthur's knee.

Arthur pulled his leg down from Alfred's hands, and moved so that he was kneeling in front of Alfred. Although his back still hurt, he was determined to not let a single indication of the pain show up on his face. Without a word, he gripped Alfred's broad shoulders - really _gripping_ them, fingers tight on those muscles.

"Alfred F. Jones," Arthur stared at him, all determination appearing in those eyes. The only offense Arthur had gotten was that Alfred did not trust him to know his own limits. "I have lived through just over a thousand years of life, now. I can handle myself. Let me tell you this..." He trailed off, and leant in, pressing his lips to the shell of Alfred's ear for a millisecond before he spoke. "I—Will—Not—Break."

Alfred looked up, watching Arthur for a minute before nodding and giving that small turned up nose a soft kiss. He then pushed the Briton back down on the bed gently without a word and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's neck as he intertwined their fingers. He kissed Arthur's chest until he had run out of places to kiss, then while keeping their hands locked he reached over to the bed side drawer and pulled out bottle of lotion. He kissed Arthur again, pulling the other's tongue into his mouth and sucking on it softly while he pumped some of the cold lotion into his hand.

"I love you, Arthur Kirkland. I always have."

One finger slipped inside.

Arthur's breath hitched, but it was not because of the finger that had been slipped gently inside of him. The Briton was more relaxed than ever, giving an appreciative stare that was so rare from him. He barely ever showed when he was truly—what was this? _Happy_? He shifted his hips and lifted his legs a little and apart so Alfred's finger could penetrate the inner rings of muscle easier. "I don't—ngh—I don't think I could ever get bored, or_ used to_, you saying that." He said, before he nodded ever so slightly. Time to stop suppressing his feeling and stop beating around the bush. "I've loved you from the second that I set eyes on you. Not in this way, obviously. But you were—ah—Always special."

He could feel his cheeks heat up at Arthur's words and he smiled letting his hand grip Arthur's tighter. He leaned down to suckle at Arthur's neck as he pressed another finger into the man's entrance, licking his lips when his blood rushed south at the feeling of Arthur clenching around him. "Love you..." He whispered again as his hips gave a small shift. His fingers started to move in a scissoring motion as he pressed his lips against Arthur's, loving the feeling of the Briton so close to him.

"Ah-hah... nnh..." Arthur's breathing, which was slow and careful right now, stammered a few times as Alfred scissored his fingers in order to stretch him. His body was not exactly pliable even when he had had recent sex let alone now - after all, he was smaller in body than Alfred. Even his fingers felt big, especially since Alfred's digits were not just solely bone. Arthur pushed his hips up as his body constricted around the foreign intruders. His member twitched with anticipation, and Arthur could not take his eyes off of Alfred's hand disappearing between his legs to plunge those digits in and out. "_Alfred_."

He continued the movement for a few more minutes and then bit his lip. "God... I love when you say my name in that kind of tone." He pulled his fingers out and moved to put more lotion on them, and carefully slid three inside the tight entrance. Huffing slightly, he tried to resist the urge not to just rut against the mattress while fingering the Briton.

Just then his middle finger grazed against something in Arthur.

Arthur gave an sharp exhale, breathing out quickly since he was startled. His head felt dizzy and somewhere behind his eyes there were sparks - like those that accompanied head-rush. Blood pooled further down on his body more attentively, and the pleasured Briton gave Alfred another stare - this one hopelessly unseeing. A sign that Alfred was doing well.

"_Alfred_..." No more 'Jones'. He lifted his hands above his head, and tugged gently at the bed-sheets and the pillow covers. It was ever harder to hold his legs up, but he could manage it. "_Yes_—Gosh, that's it..."

Alfred quirked a brow when he heard Arthur and he let his finger push up against whatever that was again. He knew prostates gave pleasure, but Arthur reacted so strongly every single time. Either he was sensitive, or he had one hell of a touch. "That good, Baby?" He whispered as he pressed feather light kisses to Arthur's cheeks and heavy brow, testing the Briton's reactions with different speeds and pressure.

Even when Arthur reached down as far as he could, he could only just touch Alfred's wrist. Still, he hoped that would be encouragement enough. He _needed_ Alfred to keep going, and if not _this_, he needed something else. To be connected - that was the aim. Their minds, hearts, bodies, everything. A term his ex-prime minister had twigged popped into his head and made him smile, if silently. Special, was it? He cupped Alfred's cheek. "Now."

The American nation was quick to obey as he pulled his fingers out and shimmed out of his briefs, his hard cock bouncing a bit as he moved to pump some more lotion into his hands. As he slicked himself up he let out a soft moan, tipping his head back and getting lost in the simple touch of his own hand. Before he went too far, he pulled away with a soft hiss and moved to loom over the Briton again, lining himself up with Arthur's entrance.

He gave Arthur one last peck on the lips before he slid completely inside.

Their lips were still sealed as Alfred went in, but it was sloppy work. They missed a little as they both shuddered at the feeling, but because of different reasons. For Alfred, it was with pleasure. For Arthur, it was accompanied with the initial pain, and the almost suffocating feeling of being stretched and filled with something far larger than should be guided into a person's body. Arthur's thin thighs shook slightly, before he gathered the strength to wrap them around Alfred's hips. He slowly opened his eyes when he realised that they had rammed close as soon as the penetration started. As the kiss ended, effort shone all across Arthur's face - but with a strange radiance that suited him. Green eyes looked strained, but not regretful. "_Al_..."

Alfred watched Arthur's face and quickly his eyes filled with worry as he moved only the slightest bit in order to prop himself up on both arms. "Baby?" He asked quietly and stroked a pale cheek with his non-lotioned hand. "Baby..." He sighed softly and kissed those trembling white lips, hand moving to rub Arthur's sides. "It'll get better. I promise."

He was lying. He had no idea what it felt like.

"I'm going to move... alright?"

Arthur was silent through the first thrust, holding his breath. Though Alfred did not know what this felt, Arthur did. He knew that it got so much better. It was just that Alfred was—well, truth be told, he was the largest he had ever had, and he was also brutal at times. Thrusts that were strong and uncalculated, because Alfred commonly just went with what felt right. A timing of his own. Something that Arthur would never, ever fault him for. Finally, as his chest stopped jittering up and down from trying to recover from the initial insertion, Arthur found himself making a noise. A moan, to begin with, then words. "—ve you... t-that's... that's it... Mmn."

Alfred huffed a small chuckle when he heard the bed creak loudly with his thrusts and was glad he didn't live in an apartment or he would have some very unhappy neighbors. Something in his chest started to warm up as he rocked forward into Arthur and he let out long groan when the heat started to spill into his stomach. "Oh, Sweetie." He purred, hand moving to weave into Arthur's shaggy hair. "You are _amazing_."

The Briton's breath strained again and again as Alfred thrust up into him, pistoning his member in and out of his warm entrance. Each thrust accelerated with Alfred's enthusiasm. It was lucky that Alfred was not sending him straight into the headboard. Alfred had... changed, recently. The first time they had sex, it was when he was stronger and Alfred wasn't _quite_ as powerful. His hegemony in this world was growing, and no one had the true power, right now, to stop it. Only the communist bloc in the East even threatened him. It was then that it hit Arthur that he was making love with the, perhaps, most powerful man alive.

And oh, did it turn him on.

Alfred let out a breathy moan as his hand slowly curled into a fist in Arthur's hair, pulling the Briton's head back slightly making him bare that long white neck. This had started happening ever since he had gained so much power, this need to show everyone what was his grew until it almost made him scream. Right now he could hear his blood rushing in his ears as he listened to Arthur make those sinful little sounds, and the need to lock Arthur in a room and never let him leave started to become heavy.

His hips picked up the pace as he gazed down at Arthur's throat in lust, his oiled hair now falling completely and into his eyes. "Nnnggh..."

The Englishman followed Alfred's eye-line and saw that he was watching his throat. His jugular must have been showing a little from the effort, and his Adam's apple bob as he tried to breathe through his mouth. He did not question the allure. Instead, sincere jade eyes were finding Alfred's as they bodies moved in time with Alfred's own rhythm. He did his best to follow along. "I know what y-you, ah, want. So do it," he said airily. "Mark me. Proclaim me."

Blue irises turned black when his pupils dilated to the point where there was only a slim ring of blue left, and he licked his lips when he heard Arthur consent to being marked up. He gave a pretty hard thrust before he dove down and bit into Arthur's neck, just hard enough to break the skin. He started to suck roughly as his hip twitched slightly and he pulled out only to slam back into the Briton.

Arthur cried out loud as Alfred dug his teeth strongly into his neck, and slammed back into him with more force than ever. A person that did not know what it was like to burn alive, as Arthur _did_, might have compared the feeling he had to a smoldering fire. It was a whole different emotion, but strong nonetheless. Arthur's legs trembled as he used his calves to help urge Alfred into him and hold on for grip. Searing pain erupted from the place Alfred had bitten into, a little bit of abuse _right there_. He did not even care if it was going to show up above the collar the next morning.

Alfred pulled away, loving the deep purple and red mark that he had left on that white canvas of Arthur's neck. "Mine..." He growled softly and then moved so that his neck was close to Arthur's mouth. "Now... M-Make me yours." He gasped out, the heat in his stomach becoming too much far too quickly. Balancing on one hand and his knees, he wedged a hand in between them and took hold of Arthur's leaking cock.

He started to play with the tip using his thumb. "Come on..."

When Alfred presented his neck to him, Arthur was not too sure. He did not mark other people much, even if he did like them a lot. Still, as that caramel expanse was offered to him, he could not help but react. His lips sealed around the area and he sucked and kissed. Not quite a full bite like Alfred had given him, but Arthur had another way to really show off Alfred's ownership of him - at least in him as Arthur, if not the nation.

As he shimmied his hips up to chase that cool thumb rubbing the head of his length, Arthur waited till the time was right, before he was dragging his fingernails straight from the middle beneath his neck towards the balls of his shoulders. Soon as that shirt came off, for any point, people would see the marks he made for at least a few weeks. He offered a few more kisses to that strong neck as an apology.

Alfred hummed happily when he neck was sucked and when he felt Arthur's dull nails dig into his skin through his under shirt he all out purred. "God, yessss." He hissed and his hand around Arthur's cock started to pump harshly while his thrusts became fast and erratic. His skin burst out in goose bumps as it started to tingle when the heat in his stomach started to spill over. "Fuck! Arthur! Shit!" He gripped sandy blonde hair tightly and fucked the Briton as hard as he could.

Any other man, and Arthur might have hated the power that they were forcing into the movements - impaling him with their thrusts. With Alfred, Arthur knew exactly why that was. With Alfred, Arthur was with a star. With Alfred, he would not have wanted it any other way. Each time Alfred was sent into him with a strong hurl forwards, making the bed complain loudly beneath them, Arthur could tell that Alfred was putting his all into it - and even if it physically hurt him, it was worth it. Arthur gave out a loud sob when his prostate was jammed into, and he almost spilled - reminding him of how close he was to finishing now. Alfred could not control himself, because he wanted to have all of him. He let go. That was the biggest sign of the fact that Alfred loved him that could possibly have befallen from him, or even from his lips.

The bed jerked and moaned loudly along with Alfred as he gave one last thrust and poured himself inside Arthur, not caring the slightest bit when some gushed out and dripped down Arthur's leg, onto the comforter. He screwed his eyes tight as he let his body ride out the feeling of ecstasy.

It ended with two climaxes - one for them each. After Alfred had the Briton spent and trembling beneath him as his rib cage struggled to rise and fall along with his lungs in unison, they realised that the constant groaning of the bed and exaggerated breaths they had grown accustomed to had dissipated. Arthur wiped the sweat off of his forehead, and glared at the shine now on his fingers. Effort, even for the receiving partner. The Briton flopped back into the sheets bonelessly now. "...Wow." He commented airily. "Aha. _Alfred_."

Alfred's chest heaved as he took in deep gulps of air, not even caring that his golden bangs clung to his forehead in an annoying and distracting manner. His mind was slowly coming down from the pleasure filled high, his skin cooling and making him shiver when the AC kicked in and brushed over his sweat soaked undershirt. "Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost..." He moaned as he slipped out and rolled over so he wouldn't crush the small Briton.

Arthur moaned uselessly at the loss, and let his legs fall back to the bed as well. As Alfred joined him, the mattress bounced a little. He used that to help him swivel around so he could look at his partner, eye to eye. "So it's just us," Arthur breathed. "Just you and I. I... just I get to feel that?"

The American hummed happily as Arthur curled up against him, he reached over into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Skillfully lighting the tip Alfred drew in a deep breath and blew the smoke out heavily before offering Arthur a drag of his own from the cigarette. "Well, I love you and from the sounds of it, you love me. Doesn't that sound like you're my only?"

Sharing the same cigarette. Hah. That was something for the movies. Though he could not help but keen towards the romantic gesture. Arthur took a long drag of the cigarette, before he blew the light smoke into Alfred's direction. He laughed a little huskily, before he nodded. "Yes," Arthur said. "Yes, yes I am."

Alfred smiled and took another pull of his cigarette before blowing it out and leaning down to kiss the Briton softly on the forehead. "Arthur Kirkland, you are now my official beau. The United States of America's lover." He smiled and pulled gently on a strand of Arthur's sandy hair. "How do you like that title?

Had Arthur been a weaker willed lover, he might have shied away from a thought that occurred to him. As it was, he smacked Alfred's arm lightly. "Be quiet and do stop being so into yourself," Arthur mumbled. The United States' lover - sounded like Alfred thought that was something to wave around and be proud of. No. He was not in this for the reputation and otherwise gains. "You, Jones, are mine too. So remember that, won't you?"

Alfred stuck his tongue out as he stubbed his cigarette out in the ash tray on the night stand, then moved to spoon against the Briton happily. "Oh, of course I am. Maybe I should get one of those tattoo things that says your name on my arm or something. You know like our sailors do."

"Oh? So your confidence in our relationship lasting is that strong, is it?" The Englishman commented as he shifted to look at one of Alfred's broad shoulders. He stroked and kissed the ball, before his fingers slowly traced further down on his arm till they lingered over the end of the tough muscle. "Here," Arthur said and kissed the area. "Right here, I'd have my name there."

The widest grin spread onto Alfred's face at Arthur planning where his name should be inked onto the American's arm permanently and he quickly moved so that he had Arthur pinned under him. "Mmm. You know... it's pretty late." Alfred barely glanced at the clock, but by the sounds of birds chirping he had to guess it was four or five in the morning.

"We could go to sleep right now, then get only about two hours of sleep and be grumpy all day. Or..." He leaned down and pressed his lips against Arthur's, making his kiss slow and lazy as something slightly hard pressed against Arthur's thigh. "We could have another amazing round, shower together, get some early breakfast and go to our meeting. Then some home and take a nap."

Arthur listened to Alfred's proposal, kissing his lover back with tenderness when needed. "By that, did you mean..." He started, and his face lit up with an air of deviance. "Stay up, have some _cracking_ sex, shower, breakfast, and then sleep all morning and afternoon - or go in and_ pretend_ to listen to our bosses and fall asleep at random intervals anyway?" Arthur asked. His lips tugged into a grin. "Yes, _yes_. I think that would be lovely."

He grasped Alfred's chin and kissed him firmly on the lips as he settled down on the bed sheets, spreading his legs openly in expectance of another round. Finally, his chest was not so terribly heavy with resentment. Or with guilt. It was dangerous, insecure times - but they could manage it. He, meanwhile, as the former world lead, passed the baton onto this younger, fresher prince of economy and power. Frankly, it was a relief to see the end. Now, he knew his Alfred was here because he wanted to be.

His Alfred and _his_ Arthur.

The Black Queen was nothing without his King.

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><p><strong>Hope you guys liked it :3.<strong>

**Chasing Shadows chapter 3 is going to be out in a while. But first, we have another PWP on the way for you.**

**Cheers for reading! **


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